


Rasputin Family Values

by LoquaciousLagomorph



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Fantastic Four, X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bumping the rating up because of Deadpool shenanigans I think, Canonical Character Death, Drabble Collection, Explicit Language, Family Feels, Gen, Just to be safe, Mild Language, Not Really Character Death, Sexual Humor, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-07-08 10:28:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19868101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoquaciousLagomorph/pseuds/LoquaciousLagomorph
Summary: Drabbles about the Rasputin family that will range anywhere from comedic to angsty to fluffy to heartbreaking. Will add tags as needed.





	1. Table of Contents

**To Calm Your Demon** : Piotr and Illyana have a heart-to-heart. Warning: Suicidal thoughts, angst, and self hatred in this one.

**So Much of Nothing:** Mikhail contemplates his life as he plays Gin Rummy and shares whiskey with his friend Ben. Colossus and Deadpool make an interesting interruption.

**Celestial:** Mikhail doesn't return home from his mission. Major character death. Slight Canon divergence


	2. To Calm Your Demon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piotr and Illyana have a heart-to-heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I NEED to stop writing stuff at two in the morning. This thing has GOT to be full of missed typos. Also, this drabble is almost entirely dialogue.

Illyana is standing outside of Piotr's room, her gut filled with apprehension. She considers teleporting, bolting in the other direction, avoiding the torrent of questions and emotions that is sure to come. He would forgive her; he always does.

Instead, she steels herself, strengthens her resolve, and lets out a shaky breath she can't remember holding in the first place. She is Magik, Darkchylde, Master of Limbo. She fears neither man nor beast. She knocks once upon the door, too quietly for her liking, and for a moment she considers the possibility that he couldn't hear it and that he won't open the door, allowing her time to change her mind.

She hears him call "Come in."

And she does. She opens the large, heavy door-- specifically designed for her Goliath of a brother-- and takes a tentative step into the room.

Piotr, who is sitting on the center of his massive bed, cast only in the light of the lamp on his bedside table that bounces back from the mirror on the wall to his right, chuckles good-humoredly. "All the way, Yana. And close the door!"

She steps in further and shuts the door quietly behind her. She stands, first staring awkwardly at him, and then at the floor, rocking back and forth on her heels out of nerves.

"Well? Come sit, sister," he says, patting a spot on the bed in front of him. "Don't be a stranger."

So she does. She walks over to the bed and plops herself down unceremoniously, letting out an angry sigh.

"Can I," Piotr says nervously, drawing his hands close to her. "Can I give you a hug?"

She narrows her eyes at him. "No!" She hisses.

He makes a sad sound in his throat, but pulls his hands away immediately, not touching her, as though he had been burnt.

"What is this all about?" She huffs.

Piotr frowns and darts his eyes away from her, looking hurt.

"It's about...that...thing you said, earlier."

Illyana scrunches her face in bitterness. "What thing?" She snips. "I say many things in the course of a day. Be specific."

He looks her in the eyes, their two shades of blue locking with his tearing up, and he says "When we were talking with Ellie, you...you said you wanted to...die. That you didn't want to live anymore."

She scoffs. "Whatever. It was a joke! You never can take a joke, can you?"

"It wasn't a joke to me, Yana!" He cries. "I don't want to hear you say things like that!"

She smiles, angrily, mockingly, the tips of her mouth pulled up sharply. "Well then, I just won't say things like that around you anymore. Problem solved!"

She goes to stand up, ready for this stupid talk to be over, when his hands clamp around her wrist. She growls at that, and rears up to punch him.

"Wait!" He says, desperately. "Please wait, Illyana. I must talk with you! I have put this off for too long! I need you to know how I...how I feel."

She stares at him evenly for a second. "Please?" He repeats, and she thinks he looks pathetic.

But she sighs and plants herself back on his bed.

"Now," he says carefully. "You...you know that I am not so good with my words."

Illyana nods at that. "And I know that you hate hearing me talk about the past. But please, my Yana. Be patient with me. I need you to hear what I have to say."

She looks at his face for a moment, taking in the severity of his countenance, and drops her head, saying nothing, and giving him permission to continue.

He smiles, and it's a look of one part relief, one part joy. "When I was a boy," he begins, "I was not alone in Ust-Ordinsky. I had my friend Sasha, and our dear older brother, Mikhail, and his friend, Vazhin, and all of our family and neighbors."

He pauses to look at her, to make sure she's paying attention. Satisfied, he continues. "I remember running and playing in the countryside, full of life and laughter-- did I ever tell you of the time I fell while playing in the woods, and became trapped in a hole in the ground?"

Illyana's eyes widen, and she shakes her head.

"I was stuck in that hole for hours," he said, shaking at the memory. "I was so cold, and hurt, and frightened-- Illyana, I thought I was going to die, all alone in that dark place!"

Illyana frowns. She's never heard that story before. Why is he only telling her now?

He furrows his brow, deep in thought. "But Mikhail, he didn't give up searching for me," Piotr says, smiling fondly and proudly. "Even hours after I first went missing, he kept looking, determined to find me. He loved me so, and so he was terrified of seeing me hurt or- or dead."

Illyana feels her gut squirm with some unnamed bad emotion. She looks at his face, trying to gather if he feels it, too.

"He found me," he says, almost breathlessly, and a little incredulously. "He pulled me up out of that hole, and he carried me all the way home." He adds, in a whisper, "he saved me."

"I fail to see what this has to do with anything!" She says hotly, surprising herself with her own venom. "You are distracted, brother. Get back on topic!"

Piotr startles at that, and falls silent. She swears she can see his heart hanging broken in his eyes. "If you listen, dear sister," he says, full of tact and softness and love, and lacking any of the spite she had just given him, "you will see that I am still very much on topic."

"Well, then, hurry it up," she whispers irately.

He shakes his head affably and continues once more. "He was so smart," he says. "Much smarter than me, but that's not so difficult. He had plans to join the airforce, or the space program. He could have gone anywhere or done anything he wished."

"Lot of good that did him," Illyana interrupts. "He's a crazy, murderous asshole who got thrown in the loony bin."

"Yana, please, let me continue," Piotr urges.

She falls silent, and he starts his story once again. "He was my big brother. Always sticking up for me, always having my back. He raised me just as much as Mama and Papa did. He was funny, and smart, and kind, and caring. He always took charge. He always knew just what to do. He was my hero," he says, lip trembling just a little. "Part of me wanted to be just like him when I grew up. But I knew I could never, ever be like him. I was too simple, and plain, and stupid. I was built for farmwork and following orders." He smiles in spite of what he just said. "It didn't matter though, I thought, because why would I need to be like Mikhail when he would always be there, to guide me and protect me, just like he promised?"

He lets out a heavy, shaky breath. "I was only ten when he died," he murmurs. "It hit us hard. There was no body to bury or say goodbye to. I didn't even get to see my big brother after he died!" He covers his face with one of his big hands, and Illyana looks away out of respect for him, knowing that he's willing a tear away. "Those men-- those government officials-- all they had to give us of our Mikhail was a dumb flag and his uniform and a stupid medal. They murdered my brother," he says, voice mucusy and full of hate, "and they had the nerve to tell us what a pride to the country he was!"

Illyana places a hand on his arm, hoping to give him some comfort. He calms, marginally, and smiles sadly down at her.

"Poor mama. She screamed when they told us." His voice sounds hollow, as if he isn't in this room next to her, but instead a thousand years and miles away. "She cried and cried for hours, and I held on to her, tight. She yelled and swore and wept until she vomited. She laid in bed, unable to move or talk or smile for a week after. I would run into her bedroom in the middle of the night because she would scream in her sleep, and I would grab onto her and hug her strong so she couldn't hurt anyone. I don't blame her; she lost her first baby. Papa wasn't much better. He was so mad. And he wouldn't talk to anyone. He would drink until he was drunk and lock himself in the cellar so no one could look at him. He was ashamed of himself."

Illyana wanted him to stop. She was mortified at the words he was saying. He never talked about Mikhail or what happened to him that much, and he never, ever talked about Mama or Papa being hurt in such a way, if he could help it. She swallows her distress and keeps it locked tight in her throat.

"I…" Piotr's voice is dry, wet, and cracky. "I was only a boy, Yana. Only a boy. I wasn't ready...how could I have been ready? I had to step up. To fill in big shoes. I had no time to grieve or move on. I was thrown headfirst into farm work while the adults were left to mourn. I had to hold a farm...a family...a neighborhood together. At night, I would climb up on the roof, as high as I could possibly get. Before, I would go there to search for Mikhail up in the stars. But after he...during that time, I would…"

A floodgate breaks within him, and he sobs, his great shoulders shaking. He pulls himself in tight and cradles his head in his hands, trying not to let Illyana see him, feeling embarrassed. The hand that was on his arm makes its way to his back, and Illyana moves it in wide, sweeping circles to soothe him.

"I wanted to die, Yana," he whimpers. "I wanted it more than anything. I would stand on the roof and look down and think all night long about jumping. I wanted to stand in front of the tractors as they did their rounds, hoping their teeth would crash down into me. I wanted to throw myself into the pond and lay at the bottom and watch my breath get taken away. I felt so weak and hopeless. I felt worthless. I couldn't fix what was broken. I couldn't make anyone happy, not like Mikhail did. I would lay awake every night wishing it was me, hoping it was me who burned alive and not him. He always knew what to do. If it were him who lived, he could have fixed everything."

He scrubs at his face angrily, and then sits silently, staring at his hands. "It was a dark time. I...would be lying if I said I have never felt that way since. But do you know what happened next, Yana?"

Illyana shakes her head slowly. He smiles, and reaches out a hand to place on her head. She doesn't stop him. "About a year or less after, Mama got pregnant," he says, and begins stroking her hair. "Everyone was so excited for the new baby. It was like we had been in a dark room for that year, and finally, someone thought to switch on the lights! We still carried with us the loss of Mikhail each day, but the thought of a new little Rasputina-! Everyone's hearts were filled to burst!"

Illyana trembles, suddenly overwhelmed by another feeling that she has no words for.

"Papa dragged himself out of the cellar and cleaned himself up. He got back to the farm, saying how he wanted to build the perfect life for you. Mama would sit on the porch, glowing with pride. She would rub her big, pregnant belly and sing lullabies to you. Sometimes I would sit next to her and sing along. Me! Singing!" He laughs. "Frightening, I know. But that was the effect you had on people! You seemed to fix everything! And, when you were finally born, Mama looked so full of life and motherly secrets. And Papa! Oh, he was elated! He started dancing with Uncle Vad in the field after! Ha ha!"

Illyana grins at that, imagining her stone-faced father trying to dip her very fat Uncle in a ballroom style dance.

"And then," he says softly. "I got to hold you. And you looked up at me with big, new eyes. Your eyes were so full of love, Yana! When I looked at you, it was like...it was like you were saying "don't worry, Piotr. Your little sister is here. I have you. Everything will be okay. You are okay.""

Illyana shifts uncomfortably in place, a word of retort building it's way up inside of her.

"That's why I started painting," he says, and Illyana is aware that they're back in familiar conversation territory. "I wanted to show you the world outside of our house! But Mama didn't want you out where the men work, so I would memorize every detail, put it on paper, and bring it to you so you could see it. You changed my life, Illyana. More than that. I know you already know the first promise I made to you; "I will watch over you always." But do you remember the second?"

She tries hard to remember, but nothing comes to mind. She shakes her head again.

He moves his hands and tries to make it obvious that his intent is to hold her shoulders. She panics, for a second, but does not stop him.

"I said to you," he recalls, staring deep into her eyes, ""Illyana Nikolievna Rasputina, so long as you live, I will never make an attempt on my life." I meant that, Illyana. I have tried staying true to my word, and I have failed sometimes. But you saved me, Yana. You saved me first. You are my hero."

Illyana suddenly becomes filled with grief and rage. "But I am not that little girl anymore!" She screeches. "I'm not! I'm something else! I'm someone else!"

"You think I don't know that?" He says angrily. Illyana is startled. She didn't expect that response. "Of course you're different! When you were born, I didn't expect you to stay a baby your whole life! I knew you would grow and change!"

"I'm barely human anymore," she seethes. "I don't know what I'm supposed to be!"

"Do you remember when my mutation first manifested?" Piotr asks.

"That's not-" Illyana tries to protest, but Piotr holds a hand up to stop her.

"That day, I jumped in front of that tractor because I love you so, and so I am scared of seeing you hurt. Or dead. And that day, I didn't know if I was going to live. I didn't know my skin would turn to steel. I just knew that I had to get you out of the way so you could keep living, so the world could keep seeing your little smile and hearing your cute laugh. I almost broke my promise then. I almost failed you. But I changed in an instant! I grew by two feet and hundreds of pounds in a second. I tore our tractor in half. With my body. And I was horrified. I didn't know what had become of me, or how to fix it. The other farmers-- our neighbors-- Sasha, Vazhin-- they all came and stared at me. They were shocked and scared of me. And I turned around to see you, and I thought you would be scared too, or cast me away, but you weren't. You didn't. You laughed and cheered! You hugged me close and kissed my cheek."

Illyana blushes. She didn't remember doing THAT.

"It was you who taught me to never fear what I am, Illyana. To never fear change. Because of you, I found my courage. The ability to move on and let go."

"But I haven't changed for the better!" She cries. "I've gotten worse!"

"Change isn't linear, Illyana," Piotr explains. "Things come in seasons. You can't see spring without winter, and after spring, winter eventually comes again. People change in all sorts of ways. Sometimes we take steps backwards. Some days, we just aren't our best--"

"You don't get it!" She howls. "I am never good! I can never be good again! I am ruined! What happened to me wasn't normal! I'm not normal!"

"Illyana, do you love me?" Piotr asks.

Illyana is thrown off guard. "I...what?"

"Do you love me? Be honest."

Illyana stares at him, mouth hanging open. "Of course I love you," she says quietly. "You're my big brother!"

Piotr grins. He looks absolutely thrilled at that admission. "And I love you Illyana. You're my baby sister, my little snowflake."

She pouts at that. "Yes, I know, you have a bad relationship with that nickname, and I'm sorry, but you'll always be my little snowflake." He says. "And I don't get to decide if you love me or not, the same way you don't get to decide if I love you, either. In life, things happen that aren't our choice. Some of those things I wish I could erase or protect you from. I wish they could never happen. But the one thing I am not sorry for? The one thing that I will never change my mind about?

I love you, Illyana Nikolievna Rasputina. You are my little sister, and nothing about that will ever change. I don't care if you're a little girl or a demon sorceress or a mountain goat. Make your mistakes, love who you love, live. Change. I will always still love you. I have been mind controlled, paralyzed, beaten, bruised, tortured, kidnapped-- and nothing, I mean absolutely nothing will ever stop me from loving you.

If you don't like who you are right now, that is fine. I will stand by you until you find yourself. I have seen goodness in you, Illyana. You are more good than most people. You know why? You don't wake up doing good things. You have hate, and anger, and impulses. You are fighting against a way of life you were forced into that you know is wrong. You aren't afraid to show anyone that you've done wrong and that you're changing. You fight so hard to do good, Illyana-- only truly good people do that.

In all ways, Illyana, I believe you are superior to me. You are stronger, braver, faster-- You are my hero. I need you. Can't you see that there is no Piotr without his Illyana? No Colossus without his Magik?"

Illyana falls quiet. "Is...is that the end of the talk?" She asks.

Piotr sighs. "Yes. I think so."

They sit in silence for a few minutes, letting the discussion they just had sink in. Illyana notices her brother shivering, as he always does after long talks or conflicts. The big guy must have been planning this for longer than she had realized.

"Can I," she says nervously, "can I have that hug now?"

He beams and gives a shocked laugh, opening his arms. "Of course, dear snowflake."

She pulls herself into his arms. She had forgotten, after all this time, just how safe he makes her feel. She tries to push down tears that are threatening to spill out of her. She is a murderer, a hell creature. Monsters like her don't cry. And yet, here, in her brother's arms, even for just a second, she is only Illyana Rasputina.

"I don't understand," she says shakily, "why you still care for me. Why anyone would. I don't deserve you. I don't deserve this. I have done such horrible, unspeakable things. Even to you."

"I don't deserve _you_ , Illyana Rasputina, you special, wonderful girl," Piotr says to her, planting a kiss on her forehead. "And believe me, most of our teammates have done just about the same things you have, and they are still regarded as heroes. Me included, I think. I know that's not comforting, and that won't fix anything, but...well, I think you're a pretty cool kid, and you have plenty of room to change."

For the first time in a long time, Illyana cries fully and openly. Tears of sadness. Tears of joy. Tears of acceptance.

"Piotr Nikolaievitch Rasputin," she manages through tiny sobs. "I promise that I will never make an attempt on my life as long as you live."

"That's a good start, Illyana," he says, pulling her in closer and rocking back and forth gently. "I suppose I'll just have to become immortal now, then."

She laughs a little at that. "When did you get so smart, you stupid cow boy?"

"When I had to figure out how to help raise the best, most beautiful girl from any and all universes."

She barks a laugh and punches him in the kidney. He wheezes, letting her go and falling back into the bed.

"Don't tell anyone about this, by the way," she says, as he takes a moment to recover. "I have a reputation to uphold."

"Of course," he splutters. As he pulls himself back up to sit, he notices wet patches on his shirt from Illyana's tears. He gasps, "oh no. I made my silly Illy cry!"

Illyana pulls a disgusted face at that nickname.

"You know what that means. It's time for an old tradition."

Illyana draws a blank on that at first, and skims through her memory to figure out what it is he's referring to. "Ice cream?" She guesses.

Piotr nods.

"Piotr!" She exclaims. "It's almost eleven at night!"

Piotr nods again.

"Who are you and what have you done with my brother!?"

He smiles mischievously as he pulls himself off the bed. "I'm the mothafucking juggernaut, biaaatch," he shouts.

Illyana guffaws and stares at him, dumbfounded. He rushes on her, grabs her, spins her around in the air, and walks out of the door holding her like a sack of potatoes.

"Piotr, put me down! And never ever say that again!" She manages through breathless, shocked bouts of laughter. He ignores the parts of his mind telling him to be careful, to keep the others from waking up. His beloved baby sister is back in his arms, laughing and breathing and smiling from ear to ear. That is all that matters.

Well, other than the question of if any of their teammates have eaten all of the ice cream already. Or if he should take medicine for his lactose intolerance beforehand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Rasputin siblings love each other, and everyone who has ever called or written Piotr as an abusive brother owes me $200 in cash compensation. Where did that idea come from? Oh yes, Piotr, who fully accepted his little sister when she came back to him as a demon and loved her through all her flaws MUST be abusive??? What an awful and wrong take. My condolences to anyone infected with that opinion.


	3. So Much of Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikhail contemplates his life as he plays Gin Rummy and shares whiskey with his friend Ben. Colossus and Deadpool make an interesting interruption.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got tired of staring at this in my drafts and decided to post it. It is what it is.

Mikhail still remembers-- still feels, subconsciously, as though he had never left-- the artificial, too clean atmosphere of his spacecraft. Back during his first launch, it had been exciting, fresh. The pure and windless air had been just another piece of the amazing experience that he was certain lay before him.

Now, though? The thought of being caught in such a still, scentless, meticulously kept place makes him feel constricted. It brings his skin to stretch across him like a body on a rack, like thin paper on a canvas, like a snake's gullet around its prey. His heart would be made to itch with some nauseous, mortal turmoil. It's another feature of himself that he observes with disdain and dour, another affliction that makes him feel like an alien masquerading as a human, as something he couldn't really be.

But sitting in the kitchen of the X-Mansion gives him some small measure of content. It's snowing outside, and though it's gotten late and the more sensible of the house's inhabitants had advised against it, the kitchen door that leads outside might as well be revolving. Every so often, some new little cretins would dash in, slamming the door and bringing in Jack Frost and rosey cheeks and some new silly anecdote to share.

"Bunch'a whelps," Ben Grimm laughs, his breath wheezy and carrying the noxious odor of smoke. "'Minds me of when I was still small and spritely. Don't seem long ago." His cigar wiggles as he talks, and the ash from it shakes off in spurts, narrowly missing the cards in his right hand and landing on the table below.

"Ah, Ben," Mikhail says cheerfully, motioning to his friend with his own hand of cards. "I think you are too hard on yourself, yes? After all, legs strong enough to push through zero g must keep some strength to them, even after time."

Ben laughs at that. "Now 'm not sure if you're tryin ta comfort me or compliment yourself, Rasputin!"

Mikhail smirks. "What? Can I not do both?"

Ben grins, the sides of his mouth pulling up accompanied by the sound of rock grinding against rock. "Such a charmer, Mike. Such a charmer."

"Speaking of charms" Mikhail says, knocking his hand against the table. "That's gin, tovarisch."

"Shit, kid," Ben says with a chuckle. "You pick up fast!"

"Should we start another round?"

"Naw, think I'm done widdat for now," Ben says, stretching in his chair. "How's about breakin open that whiskey you got? Might warm me up just a little. These kids stompin in an out and lettin that damn cold air in ain't so nice on my old, rocky joints."

"And here I thought you would never ask!" Mikhail says, reaching into the plastic bag at his feet. He grabs one of the bottles from inside by the neck and gingerly sets it on the table, getting ready to pull himself to his feet.

"Now you stay put, Nicky," Ben says, holding up his hands and motioning for Mikhail to sit down. "I'm gettin the glasses. I owe ya for your hospitality, ya know?"

Mikhail snorts a humorless laugh from his nose. "Only if you are certain you can reach, Captain."

"Hey," Ben snaps defensively. "I ain't that short!"

"Compared to Logan? I would agree."

Ben grunts and makes his way to cabinets. As he stands on tiptoe to grab the glasses, the door slams open again, hitting the pair of friends with yet another gust of frigid wind. This time, it is not a gaggle of excited children who enter.

No, it is Mikhail's own baby brother, armored up, cradling a shivering figure who's wearing a bright pink coat, shouting "Coming through" and making the whole kitchen shake with his big, fast steps.

Mikhail feels dread slice through him. Is a child injured?

Colossus rushes to the cabinet Ben opened and takes a cup from inside, turning to fill it with warm water from the tap. Mikhail finally comprehends exactly what he is looking at; his brother is holding that stupid mercenary, Deadpool, who's tongue is stuck to Colossus's frozen, metal arm.

Mikhail tries to stifle a laugh, but fails when he looks at Ben and sees him doing the same. The both of them erupt into laughter that sends them into tears. Colossus gets to work pouring the warm water on Deadpool's tongue, and a couple tugs of the mouthy Merc's head gets him free.

"Oustthh!" Deadpool whines. "Tha' hur'!"

"Be quiet, Wade," Colossus says. "Your tongue will heal more quickly if you let it be."

"Aww that's no fun!" Ben says. "I like 'im better without the lousy thing! Shoulda torn it off when ya had the chance, Jr."

"That would leave his tongue stuck to my arm," Colossus says with a shudder. "I do not want that."

"Hey!" Wade exclaims suddenly, pointing to the tabletop Mikhail is sitting in front of. "Sthat whisthkey? Bacausth I fuggin LUF whisthkey!"

"No," Mikhail says. "It's 'whiskey.' I am unfamiliar with this 'whisthkey' you speak of."

Wade blows an extremely slobbery raspberry at him, folds his arms, and nestles his head into Colossus's chest. Witnessing that, Mikhail feels that his earlier observation of the injured person being a child was actually correct.

Ben, reminded of the glorious alcohol, finally grabs some glasses from the cupboard and sets them on the table. Mikhail does a quick count of the cups-- four-- and smiles.

"Set yourselves down," Ben says, taking his seat and patting the two empty ones to his left and right, "have some liquid courage with us."

"We really shouldn't," Colossus tries to argue. "I do not trust Wade with liquor, and I still need to keep an eye on the students…"

"Well shoot boy," Ben says. "'m not sayin ta get plastered, just have a shot to shake the stress away!"

Colossus still looks uncomfortable with the idea.

"Come on, Kavon!" Mikhail says, pouring the shots. "Spend some time with old Mikhail! Relax, enjoy yourself! Someone else can watch the little ones, yes? I want to talk with my favorite little brother."

"Oh, he's probably just thinking of me, guys," Wade interrupts. "Doesn't want to force me through his whiskey dick later. Ain't that right, schmoopie-bear?" He pretends to pinch Colossus's metal cheek.

Colossus lets out a sigh.

"Oh great, his tongue is back already," Mikhail says. "How disappointing."

Wade pouts, and looks ready to sass Mikhail viciously when his train of thought is cut off by the person holding him getting smaller. The tell-tale flash and 'shnk shnk shnk' of Colossus armoring down happens in quick succession, and soon Mikhail's flesh-and-blood brother is standing in his place.

"I...I suppose," Piotr says, nervously, "that one shot would not hurt."

"Whaaat!?" Wade exclaims. "No way! Are you really gonna drink? Holy shit! Next thing I know, you'll be asking to do a line of coke off a two-dime hooker's stomach in the back alley behind Xiang's Authentic Chinese Restaurant! Oh, how the high have fallen! Or would it be more like, 'oh, how the fallen get high'?"

Piotr walks over to the table and dumps Wade unceremoniously into the seat at Mikhail's right. "Make that two shots, actually," he says, falling into his own seat at Mikhail's left, looking fatigued.

"That's the spirit!" Ben says.

"Actually, _that's_ the spirit," Wade says, pointing to the glasses and bottle and chuckling at his own dumb pun.

"I will castrate you, Deadpool," Mikhail threatens, grinning.

"Oh-ho! Many have tried and failed, mi amigo," Wade says, downing the whiskey as quickly as he can manage. "Though I would LOVE to see you try. But a fair warning, first: my dick is an unstoppable force of nature. It's like if you crossed the Juggernaut with the Hulk and then put the both of them into the world's slammingest, booty-bammingest cock in the galaxy."

"I might as well get drunk," Piotr whispers, staring forlornly at the bottle with eyes that make him look like he just died inside.

"Yeah, you're gonna need a lot of numby-juice for when I part your iron curtain tonight, lyubov," Wade says, punctuating the sentence by blowing a kiss and smacking his own ass. "By the way, the iron curtain is your ass cheeks. Which I will part with my dick. That's why it's called 'the ambassador'! Allow me to speak English between your legs!"

"I liked you better when your tongue was frozen," Mikhail says dryly.

"Funny story, that! You see, Weasel no-ballsed me and said I wouldn't try it! Bet me 20 on it and everything! He WAS gonna give me double if I could get my tongue on one of Sexy Stalin's nipples, but I thought, 'man, there's no way in hell I can catch him in winter without his shirt on unless I get really creative'. Which was Hitler's problem in World War Dos! So I tried climbing into his shirt like the horny little chipmunk I am and...well, here we are! Or at least, that's the story this awful fanfic writer came up with on the fly!"

Ben pours himself another shot and reaches under the table for another bottle. "We're gonna need all of these, I think." He says.

Mikhail tunes out the rest of the conversation. He stares at his brother's face, blotched red from the cold and the warmth of alcohol. His low bass voice trebles throughout the room like his vocal chords are a string being plucked on a cello. ("Why is your mind always in the gutter, Wade?")

Ben is wheezing at something he said. His bright orange, rocky skin is blinding and, to Mikhail, comforting. The smell of whiskey and nicotine is supplied mostly by him. ("Cause he's a stinkin' dick all the time!")

And Deadpool is one fucking ugly eyesore. The bright pink clothes, the scarred, gnarled face, and the scratchy, relatively higher-pitched voice make him unignorable. ("Actually, it's because I'm making sex an Olympic sport! I'm calling it 'The Cocklympics'!")

Mikhail feels...nice, oddly enough. For the first time in a while, he feels grounded. There is so much happening around him and to him. The smells, the sights, the sounds-- Mikhail feels hidden and vulnerable all at the same time. Though the door swings open again-- this time revealing Illyana, who barks at his three companions with her bird-like voice ("Piotr! Your snow statue is fuckin' sweet!")-- and the cold air is introduced once again, he feels unshakably warm.

Maybe good things can start happening for him again, out here in the big, wide, crazy world. Maybe he has a chance to lose himself, or find himself, in all of that chaos. Maybe he can live again.


	4. Celestial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stars don't care who they take. Don't care what they see. They glimmer down happily, haughtily, all the same. They fall on each piece of land, whether burning or frigid. They witness each birth, watch, content, each life, each giggle and whisper, every first step, first crushes, missed dances, big mistakes...and still dare to stare on, all the same, when the lights on the Earth are blotted out.
> 
> Well, curse the stars. Curse them and their vanity and pride. Let the people stick to their earthly ways, far away from the cold, unforgivingness of space.
> 
> (Mikhail doesn't return home from his mission. Major character death. Slight Canon divergence.)

His older brother, Mikhail, was the best brother ever. Every time he entered a room, he lit it up, just by being there. His laughter was contagious, and he was popular and fun to be around. He was so brave, and smart, and wonderful. Piotr felt like the luckiest boy on Earth to have him for a brother.

So he didn't understand why he had to leave.

Mikhail dressed in his green uniform, all buttoned up clean and polished to hit the launch platform. Mama gushed over him, kissing his cheeks and warning him to not bring home too many girls in that handsome, roguish outfit. Papa got misty eyes as he looked over his oldest son. He gave him a pat on the shoulder, and puffed up with pride when his son saluted back.

"Why do you have to go?" Piotr asked, voice small and warbly with sadness. "Who will watch over me while you're away?"

Mikhail knelt down to look Piotr in the eyes. "Oh, Kavon," Mikhail said, putting his hands on Piotr's shoulders. "I shouldn't be away long. And just because I am leaving doesn't mean I will stop watching over you."

Piotr looked at the ground. "I don't understand," he whispered.

"I will be up in the sky, Piotr. Way up in space. There will never come a time when I'm up there where I won't be thinking of you. Just look to the stars, and you will know that I am looking back."

A tear rolled down Piotr's face, and he let out a shuddery sob. "I will miss you."

"Oh, Piotr," Mikhail said, wiping the tear away. He smiled sadly as he grabbed a pin from his coat, undid it, and held it in front of Piotr. "Take this. To remember me by. You can give it back to me when I return."

Piotr stared at it, bug-eyed, mouth hanging open. It was a small, gold, star-shaped pin. He took it slowly, gingerly. "Okay," he said softly.

Mikhail grinned and ruffled the boy's hair, giving him a kiss on the forehead. "Piotr Nikolaievitch Rasputin, my beloved baby brother. I love you, and I will miss you. Take care of mama and papa for me while I'm away, okay? You know what kind of trouble they can get into!"

Piotr giggled. "Okay, Mikhail Nikolaievitch. I love you, too. Goodbye, big brother."

Mikhail stood up straight, gave one more salute, and marched briskly out, his friend Vazhin in tow. 

* * *

"Piotr Nikolaievitch Rasputin! What are you doing on the roof?" His mama called.

"I'm looking for Mikhail, mama!" He called back.

"Don't hurt yourself!"

"I won't!"

She sighed, shrugged, and walked back inside.

Piotr finished his ascent to the top and laid on his back, staring up at the canopy of stars above him. He wasn't very good at remembering constellations or planets or their placements. He pointed a finger in the air and waved it around, drawing out a map of where he thought Mikhail might be.

_He's fighting aliens! He's jumping on the moon! He's met up with Laika, the greatest dog astronaut! He's flying through an asteroid field!_

Piotr laughed at himself as he put his hand back down. He couldn't wait for Mikhail to tell him all his space stories!

_Hello, Mikhail. I know you are up there. I miss you more and more each day. I love you, and I know you are looking for me, just like I am looking for you!_

Piotr tapped the little gold star on his suspenders.

_It's still safe with me. So are Mama and Papa. They miss you dearly, too. So does Vazhin. We are already planning what our supper should be like when you return! Maybe all of our neighbors will come! How exciting! Sasha says he will definitely be there. I am not surprised! My friend is always hungry!_

"Pioooootr! Come down here and help me lock up, would you?" Uncle Vad yelled.

"Coming!" Piotr shouted down, already starting his climb down.

_Goodbye, Mikhail. Have a safe flight._

* * *

Piotr was out in the field when he heard the "put-put-put" of a car pulling up to the house. That only meant one thing; a soldier, with news of Mikhail, come to visit! One came every few weeks to give them an update. They always smelled like laundry cleaner and oil, and sometimes like cigarette smoke, so Piotr would stand a little away as they talked with Mama and Papa and Baba and Uncle Vad.

Piotr leapt up and started jogging towards the house.

"Where do you think you're going, Nikolaievitch?" Shouted Dima, one of the other farmers.

"News of Mikhail!" He explained shortly, and the old man nodded and let him be.

He came running up from behind the house, panting and grinning from ear to ear. Where would Mikhail be today? He laughed to himself as he stayed in the shade next to the wall of his home. _I will sneak up on the big scary soldier and spook him badly! I am such a naughty boy!_

He froze when he saw that there was not one soldier, but three. And they were all very important looking. He stood very still and kept very quiet to hear what they were saying.

"I am sorry."

Piotr's stomach dropped. _Sorry? For what?_

The soldier unfolded a flag and handed it to Papa. Mama was handed a uniform, all green and polished with buttons--

Mikhail's uniform.

_How DARE those soldiers touch brother's uniform! What a mean thing to do, stealing someone's clothes!_

There was a blood-curdling scream. A scream of terrible grief and mourning. A scream coming from his Mama.

Mama fell to her knees, grabbing at Papa. Papa held on to her tight as she sobbed. He looked up straight in the air, took his hat off, and covered his chest with it.

"The body. Where is his body? Let me see him, one last time. Please. Let me see my boy." His Papa begged. Piotr didn't want to hear anymore. His stomach was churning, all sick feeling.

"I'm afraid there is no body, Mr. Rasputin. It was burnt and damaged irrecoverably in the explosion."

Papa's shoulders shook and he held Mama closer as she screamed again. "My baby!" She cried. "My baby boy, burnt to pieces! Damn you! DAMN YOU!"

Piotr put his hands to his mouth and shook his head as a great sob built its way up in his throat. He took slow, small steps backward, away from the nightmare playing out in front of him.

_No. No. This isn't real. This can't be happening. Mikhail was just fine a week ago! He can't be...he's supposed to…_

A hand grabbed his arm, making him jump. "Piotr Nikolaievitch?" It was Sasha. "Dima said you ran over here, and then there was screaming. What happened?"

"Leave me alone," Piotr muttered, eyes wide and aimless.

"But I want to--"

"LEAVE ME ALONE, DAMN IT!" Piotr screamed, smacking his hand away. That drew the attention of the adults, who turned their big worried eyes on him.

"Piotr," his Papa beckoned. "Come here, son."

Piotr trembled and shook his head violently. He was overcome by his sadness, breaking into uncontrollable tears. He shoved Sasha to the ground and ran as fast as he could to the woods.

Even as he hit the treeline, he didn't stop running. Not even when his parents and neighbors yelled for him. Not until he was halfway into the forest.

He grabbed his sides and bent forward, gasping and panting for air. Then, he wrenched a hand in his hair, pulling and tugging at it, ignoring the sharp pain it caused. He screamed as he punched some of the trees, trying to rid himself of his childish aggressions. He kept pulling his fist back and forward, not caring when his knuckles bruised, hardly noticing when they bled. When he was finally good and tired he fell to the ground, screaming.

"MIKHAIL!"

* * *

It was late in the night when he came home.

His Mama was waiting for him, and a part of him was worried that she would be mad, but a larger portion didn't care.

She was sitting in her old wooden rocking chair, rocking back and forth slowly. Her hair was a mess, some of it had been wet by tears and then dried. Her eyes were red and puffy. She stared through him, making him shiver. "Piotr, Darling," She rasped. "Let's go to bed."

He kicked his boots off at the door, then looked down at his socks, ashamed.

"I'm sorry, mama," his voice hoarse and remorseful.

"I am through with apologies today, Piotr," She said, standing up, pulling him into a hug. "Sleep with Papa and I tonight, won't you? To keep the nightmares away?"

He was a big boy. He hadn't slept with his parents in three years! He didn't need to! But maybe...maybe just for tonight, he could.

He nodded sheepishly and the two of them walked back to his Mama and Papa's bedroom.

It was dark, with the only light being a candle on the nightstand.

Papa was already on the bed, quietly staring at the wall. He was cast only in the dim candlelight, bathing all of his features in a soft, sad glow, throwing shadow over him. He looked tired. The muscles in his face were twitching, and his jaw was clamped closed so tight, it looked like it might snap in two. 

"Piotr wants to sleep with us tonight, Nikolai." Mama said, taking a seat next to him.

When Papa didn't respond to that, Piotr added, "keep the nightmares away."

His Papa picked him up in his arms and set him on the bed, not letting go of him, even when he was sitting.

"Piotr, my sweet boy. My son…" he said, running a hand through Piotr's hair.

Piotr wept silently as his parents held onto him. The both of them kept whispering, in varying degrees of anguish, "my son, my son," and Piotr wondered which son they meant.

He was only a boy, and he felt like his life was over, ended with his brother, up in that mangled spaceship in the stars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Star child, bury your head in my arms, when your journey has hurt you. Come home, come home, come home, and I will love you all the same.


End file.
